


katsuDONDE ESTAMOS?

by Misfit_McCoward



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Art inside!!, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Language Jokes, M/M, Spanish regional humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 05:17:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16423118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misfit_McCoward/pseuds/Misfit_McCoward
Summary: “Can we pet your dog?” Viktor, never one to be ashamed, asked.The man stared at him, incomprehension written across his face. Viktor tried again, slowly and clearly, with hand gestures.“Pet?” he said. “Your dog.” He pointed. “Pet. Pet. Peeeeet.” He stroked the air.Little did either Viktor or Yuuri know, ‘pet’ was actually Catalan for 'fart.’“Pet OK?” Yuuri tried.The man, affronted, sneered at them and dragged his adorably fat dog away.“I don’t see how that went wrong,” said Viktor, who had just been repeating the word 'fart’ slower and slower to a stranger.[OR: Viktor and Yuuri get lost following a dog in Barcelona. Written for Victuuri Big Bang 2.0, partnered with tumblr user estellie!]





	katsuDONDE ESTAMOS?

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Victuuri Big Bang 2.0. I worked with the extremely talented [estellie](http://estellie.tumblr.com/)! Her excellent art can be found [here](http://estellie.tumblr.com/post/179513141501/im-dumb-i-accidentally-deleted-the-previous), as well as down below. :)
> 
> I actually outlined this fic about a year ago when I was living in Spain. I didn't live in Barcelona, but I spent a decent amount of time there. (I also worked in three different catalan-speaking elementary schools... you learn fast from kids that "pet" is "fart.") The title is a play on words (katsudon + dónde estamos? (where are we?)). 
> 
> A note on language: I am not a native speaker of Spanish, and I don't speak Catalan beyond a few key phrases. Any language mistakes are my own. 
> 
> **Warnings:** T rating entirely for language (DON'T SWEAR IN SPANISH, KIDS). There's also several instances of alcohol usage.

>   **You**
> 
> _PHICHIT_
> 
> _PHICHIT_
> 
> _PHI_
> 
> _CHIT_

 

**phiCHIIIIIIIIIIT**

_YUURI_

_Its 5am and im wildly hungover whta do yo_

_U WANT_

 

> **You**
> 
> _phichit i think i accidentally proposed to viktor_
> 
>  

**phiCHIIIIIIIIIIT**

_are_

_are u drunk_

  

> **You**
> 
> _PHICHIT IM SERIOUS_

 

**phiCHIIIIIIIIIIT**

_what do u mean ACIIDENTALLY_

_u bought him a ring_

_and promised him forever. like a romcom character_

  

> **You**
> 
> _i didnt mean marriaeg_

 

**phiCHIIIIIIIIIIT**

_ur a damn romcom character katsuki_

 

> **You**
> 
> _i meant like a promise ring_

 

**phiCHIIIIIIIIIIT**

_thats not what a promise ring is and u know it_

 

> **You**
> 
> _no i MEANT_
> 
> _like_
> 
> _we’d promise to be together_
> 
> _for a very long time_
> 
> _at least until death_

 

**phiCHIIIIIIIIIIT**

_romcom character_

  

> **You**
> 
> _PHICHIT!!!!_
> 
> _i just want viktor to be happy with me for always??_

 

**phiCHIIIIIIIIIIT**

_dude i dont know what 2 tell u that sounds like marriage to me_

  

> **You**
> 
> _Its not???_

 

**phiCHIIIIIIIIIIT**

_dude you refused to drink anything last night bc you wanted ‘to remember this for the rest of ur life_

_nd then u led viktor off into the mysteriiou beyonf_

_b4 the banquet even ended_

 

**phiCHIIIIIIIIIIT**

_did u have fun btw_

 

**phiCHIIIIIIIIIIT**

_yuuri?_

_yuuri did u wake me from my hungover death sleep for nothing_

 

> **You**
> 
> _sry viktor rolled over in his sleep and i got distracted_

 

**phiCHIIIIIIIIIIT**

_what th fcuk_

_just marry the man_

 

> **You**
> 
> _i cant marry him on an accidental proposal!!!_

 

**phiCHIIIIIIIIIIT**

_So u do wanna marry_

 

> **You**
> 
> _PHICHIT_
> 
> _Who doesnt want to marry viktor nikiforov!!!!_

 

**phiCHIIIIIIIIIIT**

_so why are u upset_

_U seduced him on accident_

_Made him move 2 japan on accident_

_Why not just fucking marry him on accident too_

 

> **You**
> 
> _phichitt your not helping_

 

**phiCHIIIIIIIIIIT**

_ok ok ok_

_look at it this way_

_what would u do if viktor proposed 2 u_

 

> **You**
> 
> _run_

 

**phiCHIIIIIIIIIIT**

_ok bad example_

_what would u do if u viktor proposed 2 u and u weren’t made of 90% anxiety_

 

> **You**
> 
> _grab on & never let go _

 

**phiCHIIIIIIIIIIT**

_so there u go. problem solved._

 

> **You**
> 
> _phichhit i cant get married on an ACCIDENTAL SHAM PROPOSAL_

 

**phiCHIIIIIIIIIIT**

_Then just tell him u fucked up_

_Your life is so weird he’ll probably accept it_

 

> **You**
> 
> _no_

 

**phiCHIIIIIIIIIIT**

_like “oh yeah, of course he proposed on accident, just like he humped my leg on accident”_

 

> **You**
> 
> _NO_

 

**phiCHIIIIIIIIIIT**

_hes obviously into ur particular brand of weird dude just roll w/ it_

 

“You proposed on accident?” Viktor asked blearily, and Yuuri dropped his phone. It bounced off the edge of the bed and fell to the carpet, ripping itself free of the charger on the way down.

 

“Um…” Yuuri said. He’d switched his phone to large text for easier reading without glasses, but this had clearly been an exercise in self-sabotage. Viktor was half-sitting up in bed next to him, propped up on one arm and looking like he could barely open his eyes enough to read over Yuuri’s shoulder. His face didn’t look angry or upset, just very, very sleepy. “It may have slipped my mind,” Yuuri continues, “that promising someone forever and putting a ring on their finger… uh.” He paused. How to put this delicately?

 

Viktor yawned. It was adorable.

 

“It was more like a life-bond promise ring,” Yuuri finished.

 

Viktored squinted slightly, then rubbed the corner of his eye.

 

“Sounds like marriage,” he mumbled.

 

“But that’s not…” Yuuri trailed off as Viktor flopped back down on the bed and pulled him towards him. His breath still smelled vaguely of the garlic sauce the tapas at the banquet had come smothered in. Yuuri found the smell cute and romantic, because apparently he was indeed a romcom character.

 

“It’s not really what I meant,” Yuuri finished, shifting his weight so they’d both be more comfortable. Viktor hummed into his shoulder.

 

There were several minutes of silence. Yuuri assumed Viktor had fallen back asleep, until he asked, “Can we still get married?”

 

Yuuri felt every bit of tension he’d had over the course of the Grand Prix melt from his body.

 

“Yes,” he said.

 

\--

 

When they woke again, the sun was shining directly on Yuuri’s face. He pulled the covers over his head, but Viktor poked him in the side.

 

“I’m going to get us breakfast,” he murmured.

 

“No,” Yuuri groaned. “It’ll take you hours. Your coffee standards are too high.”

 

Viktor snorted affectionately and trailed a hand lazily down Yuuri’s leg as he got out of bed.

 

“Come with me then,” Viktor said.

 

Yuuri groaned again, and with a tremendous amount of effort, pushed the covers off his body.

 

“I hate this,” he announced, eyes straining against the sun. The room had automatic blackout blinds the concierge called _persianas_ , but they’d been too distracted last night to put them down.

 

“That’s what you get for bothering poor Phichit before sunrise,” Viktor teased, pulling a shirt over his head.

 

Eventually, and with much complaining, Yuuri managed to move a set of clothes from his suitcase onto his body.

 

“It’s too bad you don’t have a gold medal for me to kiss,” Viktor said as Yuuri put on his glasses. “I guess I’ll just have to kiss your face.”

 

It was at least the tenth time he’d said that. Yuuri still went along with it.

 

The hotel provided breakfast, but continental Europe had nonsense ideas about what breakfast was supposed to be. A tray of pastries, some fresh orange juice, hot chocolate, and instant coffee were laid out in the lobby. Viktor snagged a spiral pastry covered in powdered sugar as they passed, tore it in half, and passed a half to Yuuri.

 

“We should just go to Starbucks,” Yuuri said as they stepped outside. Contrary to his expectations, Barcelona had a lot of bad coffee, and Viktor was very picky. Better just to go straight to a chain where they knew the coffee would be reasonable, rather than wander into five or six different random bars and cafes in a quest for decent coffee, as Viktor was wont to do when left alone. “Or Costa. You like Costa Coffee, right?”

 

“Actually,” Viktor said, holding up his phone, “I researched it this time.”

 

“ _Satan’s Coffee Corner_ ,” Yuuri read aloud. “Seriously?”

 

“It’s close to us,” Viktor said. “In the Barrio Gótico.”

 

It wasn’t close to them. Viktor’s metric for “close” was measured in cab rides, and Barrio Gótico was a maze of narrow streets ruled by pedestrians. It was cooler in the shade of the buildings, and it smelled of the soapy water dumped out onto the streets as part of the locals’ morning cleaning.

 

Some thirty minutes later, they had passed both a Starbucks and a Costa Coffee, Yuuri had a dozen picture-esque photos of cobblestone streets decorated in laundry lines and red and gold Catalan flags, and they’d found the Christmas markets again, the Barcelona Cathedral looming behind them.

 

“We’ve done something wrong,” Viktor announced, frowning minutely down at his phone. “I’m not exactly sure what we’ve done, but it’s definitely wrong.”

 

“We can just go there,” Yuuri replied, pointing. “Look.”

 

“I don’t want…” Viktor started, pinching his face into his “I only drink the finest of coffees, artfully crafted, slow roasted, and made from the highest-quality cherries hand-picked by world-renown coffee farmers” face, but then he saw where Yuuri was pointing and laughed.

 

El Café D’En Victor peeked out from behind the Cathedral, easily ignored in the bustle of the Christmas market. Viktor grabbed Yuuri’s hand and plunged head-first into the sea of tourists and little old Catalan ladies in the market, ignoring the displays of nativity figurines and decorated logs piled carefully in almost every booth. The piney smell stayed with them when they emerged and, grinning and pink-nosed, Viktor pulled Yuuri into his chest to snap a selfie with the sign.

 

The cafe had plastic seats and tables, and Victor’s cafe solo was undoubtedly not up to his usual standards, but he still smiled his heart-shaped smile at it, knocking knees with Yuuri under the table.

 

_Oh no_ , Yuuri thought, feeling unbearably happy, _I AM a romcom character_.

 

The only food the cafe had was dry croissants and some sort of egg and potato… cake… thing. It seemed like it should come with ketchup.

 

“That’s your inner American talking,” Viktor said, arranging their coffee cups for instagram. CAFE D’EN VICTOR was printed on both of them.

 

“Do you still want to find Satan’s Coffee?” Yuuri asked.

 

“I always want to find Satan’s coffee,” Viktor replied. “I bet he has excellent taste. But actually, I was thinking we could go look at the beach.”

 

Barcelona in December was sunny and certainly warmer than many parts of the world, but it was chilly enough to require a coat. Still, the beach sounded nice. Yuuri had yet to catch a glimpse of the Mediterranean.

 

Viktor made Yuuri ask for the bill. Yuuri had taken two semesters of Spanish four years ago, and Viktor seemed to think that made him fluent.

 

“Um, el cuento, por favor,” Yuuri said to the man behind the bar. The man stared at him. Viktor beamed from across the room and flashed a thumbs-up.

 

The man, after a few seconds more staring, brought the bill, and they decided to find a main road and take a cab to the nearest beach.

 

They decided to do this, but then Yuuri saw something that would change his life forever.

 

“Viktor,” he whispered, looping his arm through Viktor’s. “ _Look_.”

 

Viktor turned, smiling and absent-minded, and froze. “Yuuri…”

 

“I think I’m in love.” Yuuri said.

 

It was a dog. The fattest little dog Yuuri had ever seen. It was a small, furry torpedo, scurrying after its owner on short little legs. It was struggling to keep up, its nails clicking on the smooth cobblestones. Even still, its nubby little tail wagged furiously. The dog had a magical quality to it, as if it had just walked out of an innocent child’s dream.

 

  
(full-sized art [here](http://estellie.tumblr.com/post/179513141501/im-dumb-i-accidentally-deleted-the-previous))

 

“We need to meet him,” Viktor said decisively. It was very clear he meant the dog and not the old man holding its leash. They crossed the street and marched right up to the dog’s owner.

 

“Can we pet your dog?” Viktor, never one to be ashamed, asked.

 

The man stared at him, incomprehension written across his face. Viktor tried again, slowly and clearly, with hand gestures.

 

“Pet?” he said. “Your dog.” He pointed. “Pet. _Pet._ Peeeeet.” He stroked the air.

 

Little did either Viktor or Yuuri know, _pet_ was actually Catalan for _fart._

 

“Pet OK?” Yuuri tried.

 

The man, affronted, sneered at them and dragged his adorably fat dog away.

 

“I don’t see how that went wrong,” said Viktor, who had just been repeating the word _fart_ slower and slower to a stranger.

 

“I think my heart is a little bit broken,” Yuuri replied.

 

“Well,” said Viktor, grabbing his hand. “We can’t have that.”

 

Viktor dragged Yuuri down the street after the old man and his dog. Well, he dragged Yuuri for about thirty seconds before Yuuri pulled ahead to chase after the man at not-quite-a-run. They managed to follow the fat little dog’s wagging tail around several corners, before the cramped pedestrian streets suddenly opened onto a major street, filled with cars and lined with people talking loudly amongst themselves.

 

“Did you see–” Yuuri started, craning his neck to see over the crowd.

 

“Yes,” said Viktor authoritatively, and marched Yuuri by the elbow through the crowd and down the sloping street. They had to wait a few minutes at a crosswalk, and after they crossed to the other side, Viktor looked around a few times and gave Yuuri a sheepish look. “I think we lost them.”

 

Yuuri was briefly very disappointed. Then he remembered he could still go to the beach with Viktor, which was also very good.

 

“I’m sure there will be lots of dogs at the beach.”

 

“Mm,” Viktor agreed. “Beach dogs are good dogs.”

 

Viktor got out his phone to look up a map, but the little blue dot that was their current location simply drifted in a random pattern around their current location. “Excellent,” Viktor quipped.

 

Yuuri got out his own phone, to be greeted with seven notifications from Phichit. They were all various selfies of Phichit in front of…

 

“Phichit found the beach,” Yuuri said, squiniting down at a photo of Phichit flashing the peace sign in front of an elaborate sandcastle. Viktor leaned over to watch Yuuri scroll through his friend’s photos. The next one was a distant photo of two women in bikinis wading casually into the ocean, with the current winter temperature superimposed over it.

 

_Careful,_ read the caption. _Russians just be like this._

 

“Rude,” Viktor said. “How does he even know they’re Russian?”

 

The next photo was of a pier, then a statue Yuuri recognized at being at the end of Las Ramblas, the main pedestrian through-way that tourists flocked to in Barcelona.

 

Someone bumped into Yuuri as he examined a photo of Phichit in front of the wax museum. Spiderman hung above him while he flashed the camera the iconic web-shooting hand gesture. Viktor led him off the sidewalk and through a gate into a park.

 

“I think we’re in Park Ciutadella,” Viktor said, frowning down at his phone. “So we can either walk through it or try to find a taxi stand.”

 

The decided to walk through the park, since it had a ‘photo’ symbol next to it on Google Maps, and of course got immediately distracted. There was the most elaborate fountain Yuuri had ever seen, multiple stories high with blue-green water and decorated with statues of griffins and horses. Tens of tourists swarmed around it, and Viktor’s attention was immediately caught by a tiny stand selling snacks and drinks. He ordered them both mojitos and insisted they take a selfie with them in front of the fountain.

 

“Send it to Phichit,” he insisted. “And add ‘Russians be like this too’–”

 

Yuuri snorted. He captioned it, _Viktor will not be outdone._

 

They settled down at a table in the shade, with full view of the fountain. Yuuri sipped his mojito slowly– there were undissolved sugar granules at the bottom, which he didn’t appreciate, but there were plenty of mint leaves and the rest of the drink was tasty.

 

Viktor looked up on his phone what attractions were in the park and happily babbled to Yuuri about parrots and a botanical garden. Yuuri nodded along, occasionally checking his phone for updates from Phichit. Nearby, two local teenagers smoked and an American tourist yelled _SHUT UP_ at a pigeon.

 

_Beat THIS, Ruski,_ Phichit responded to Yuuri’s message. It was a photo of a cup of coffee, angled to show off the background.

 

“...huh,” Yuuri said, and passed the phone to Viktor. Viktor inhaled sharply. Phichit had somehow found what Yuuri could only describe as fairy forest. That sold coffee. Huh.

 

“Right, okay,” Viktor said, standing up. “I will not be beaten.”

 

There was, for reasons Yuuri could not and would not ever be able to guess, a statue of a wooly mammoth around the other side of the snack stand. Viktor made a determined power walk to it, pausing halfway to turn to turn and make sure Yuuri was following.

 

Yuuri was not following, instead blinking owlishly at Viktor from over his half-drunk mojito. Viktor made puppy eyes. Yuuri felt his face melt into a gooey smile and got up to go help his finance with whatever nonsense this was.

 

Viktor climbed the mammoth.

 

“What pose should I do?” Viktor called down, standing awkwardly on the thing’s neck. “Should I ride it? Pose triumphantly?”

 

(“Mamá,” a child at Yuuri’s elbow asked. “¿Monto el mamut también?”)

 

Yuuri awkwardly shoved his mojito into the crook of his elbow so he could use both hands to angle his phone camera. “Maybe like, a… Washington crossing the Delaware?”

 

Viktor called back, “I don’t know what that mean– _oh my god, Yuuri_ –”

 

Viktor nearly fell off the mammoth as he scrambled down, stumbling as he hit the ground.

 

(“Mira, Pau,” the mother of the child at Yuuri’s elbow said, “Te vas a caer como este tonto.”)

 

“It’s Fat Dog!” Viktor said, flailing his arms. “Yuuri, I saw Fat Dog!”

 

Viktor ran. Yuuri ran after him, sloshing mojito down his coat. They had to push through several families and groups of tourists, and Yuuri didn’t really know what was going on, but he followed Viktor out of the park and down a sidestreet.

 

Then, he saw it. Fat Dog was back, fluffier and more dream-like than ever. Its owner was gone, as if it had shed its mortal retainer in order to guide him and Viktor through the streets of Barcelona. It turned a corner. Yuuri and Viktor sprinted after it.

 

Many blocks later, Yuuri had his lost plastic mojito cup somewhere and he was panting. Viktor slowed to a walk, also panting.

 

“Do you.. See Fat Dog…?” Viktor asked, sounding mildly heartbroken.

 

“No,” Yuuri answered, feeling mildly heartbroken. “Do you know where we are?”

 

“Uh…” Viktor fumbled with his phone. “...El Clot.”

 

Yuuri blinked. “Excuse me?”

 

“This neighborhood is called El Clot,” Viktor said, frowning down at his phone. “We ran pretty far. Ah, we went away from the beach too...”

 

El Clot was more modern and residential, which meant it had wider streets and fewer pedestrians crowding the sidewalk. Viktor absentmindedly sat on the bench at a bus stop, tapping away at his phone, and Yuuri sat next to him and pulled out his own phone to update Phichit on their sad quest to pet Fat Dog.

 

Phichit had sent him photos of some sort of market. There were lots of exotic fruits and fish and barrels of olives and displays of marzipan sculpted to look like little fruits and animals and toys. _This is the worst juice i’ve ever had_ , Phichit captioned a selfie of himself grinning broadly and holding a large cup of something yellow up to his face.

 

_I take it that’s your before photo?_ Yuuri asked.

 

Phichit sent back of photo of him pouting with his bottom lip sticking out. A poorly drawn tear had been digitally added to his face. _I’m pretty sure instead of coconut and pineapple it’s sawdust and sadness juice._

 

Yuuri snapped a picture of the street and started to explain to Phichit about Fat Dog.

 

“Okay,” Viktor finally announced. “I have four possibilities for lunch.”

 

Yuuri had thought Viktor was looking up how to get to the beach. But, he supposed, he _was_ starting to get hungry.

 

The first place they tried was closed, and at the next two staff awkwardly informed them that they could sit, but lunch wouldn’t been served for a while. This, Yuuri realized, must be why all the restaurants in the more touristic areas advertised “food served all day.” The Spanish ate their lunch _late._

 

The place where they ended up eating was also not serving lunch yet, but they had piles and piles of small dishes sitting out on the bar. There was a plate of carefully crafted towers of sausage, green pepper, and fried quail egg balanced on slices of baguette bread. Another plate boasted croquettes, also balanced on bread.

 

“Tapas?” Yuuri asked.

 

The woman behind the bar had a mullet and drop-crotch pants. “Pintxos,” she corrected.

 

“What’s the difference?” Viktor asked, eyeing a stuffed pepper.

 

“There’s a _palillo_ ,” the woman said, very matter-of-factly. Viktor looked at Yuuri expectantly. Yuuri had no idea what a _palillo_ was. The piece of bread all the tiny dishes were served on? The toothpick? The fact that they all seemed to contain serrano ham?

 

They both picked a few of the tiny servings of food and the waitress smiled brightly at them before popping the pintxos into a microwave. Yuuri vaguely recalled the Spanish word for hot was _caliente_ but also _calor_. He couldn’t remember the difference.

 

“Dos vasos,” he tried telling the waitress, “de sangría?”

 

He shot Viktor a nervous glance, hoping for backup. Viktor nodded happily. He’d only ordered alcohol twice here before the Grand Prix Finals, and both times it had been beer he’d whined about. Yuuri was sure there had to be good beer and coffee somewhere in this city, but Viktor certainly couldn’t find it.

 

Sangría seemed safer. It was what Spain was famous for, wasn’t it?

 

“ _Hombre,_ ” one of the men seated at the bar said, leaning over. He also had a mullet. “When in Basque Country, do as the Basque.”

 

He nodded wisely at his one cup. It had.... cola.

 

“Um,” said Yuuri.

 

“MY FRIEND,” the obviously inebriated man yelled at the waitress, who rolled her eyes affectionately. “My guiri friends would like… a… kalimotxo!”

 

The entire bar– which at this point was Viktor and Yuuri and the group of five men with mullets– burst into chants of _KALIMOTXO._

 

“I don’t know what’s happening,” Viktor whispered in Yuuri’s ear. “I’ve been to the French Basque country but they’re not…”

 

The waitress was mixing red wine and Coca-Cola for them.

 

“...like this?”

 

The “kalimotxo” or whatever was surprisingly tasty. Who would have thought?

 

“Do you like?” one of the men asked.

 

_“Yes,”_ Viktor answered, immediately and with as much gusto as the drunk Basque had shown for the drink.

 

“MY FRIEND,” the man yelled, and suddenly they were surrounded by people. Yuuri had no idea what was happening. He hunched over himself and pulled out his phone.

 

Phichit had sent him snapchats of Town Hall Square. There was a… a nativity scene, Yuuri thought they were called. The thing where people brought baby Jesus presents. Except this wasn’t just a little display under the tree at his philosophy professor’s post-exam party. This was giant. It filled the entire plaza.

 

_WHERE IS THE SHITTER,_ Phichit demanded.

 

Yuuri hummed. That didn’t make sense. He glanced up at Viktor, who was yelling at one of the Basque men about… soccer, probably. The waitress was making him a second kalimotxo.

 

_Just go in a bar,_ Yuuri texted back to Phichit.

 

_Not that type of shitter,_ Phichit texted. _They always put a figurine of a guy pooping in their navities. I found one of Goku._

 

_WHAT?_

 

Yuuri turned to ask Viktor if he could believe this. Instead of catching his attention, Viktor and the five men held new drinks over their head and they all yelled the Japanese word for penis.

 

Yuuri stared. Viktor turned to him, blinked, and then burst into laughter.

 

“Yuuri– oh, I forgot– oh no.”

 

As it turned out, _chinchin_ was also Spanish for cheers. Yuuri could not say it with a straight face. Their new friends all thought this was hilarious and ordered him drink after drink. Phichit sent photo after photo of figurines of famous people pooping, which had Yuuri crying with drunk laughter.

 

_I hope I never become this famous,_ Phichit captioned a photo of a pooping figurine of Cristiano Ronaldo. _Your boyfriend is luckily I didn’t find one of him._

 

Eventually the restaurant opened for regular lunch and other customers started to wander in. Yuuri went to ask for the check, and having looked up a Spanish mobile phrasebook, very carefully said:

 

“Nos cobras?”

 

The woman behind the bar nodded and brought him two more kalimotxtos.

 

_Nos cobras_ was dangerously close to _dos copas,_ or _two cups._

 

“Ah,” said Yuuri, and dutifully drank another one. When he tried asking for the bill again, the bartender waved her hand dismissively.

 

“Your new friends said they will cover you,” she explained. “For the promised.”

 

It took Yuuri a couple of minutes on his phone– now at 2% battery– to figure out what she’d meant. The English translation of ‘prometido’ was indeed ‘promised,’ but it also meant promised in the sense of ‘engaged.’

 

_Fiances._

 

Yuuri’s face went hot as a dumb grin spread across it. It turned out Viktor had not been yelling at his friends about sports afterall.

 

\--

 

By the time Yuuri and Viktor stumbled out of the bar, they were very full, pleasantly drunk, and completely lost.

 

“My phone died in the name of art,” Viktor said. By art he meant ‘photos of myself and fiance with strangers,’ which Yuuri definitely thought qualified as art. “How’s yours?”

 

“Phichit killed it,” Yuuri said. He felt flushed and hadn’t bothered putting on his coat. “Do you remember where Garazi said the metro stop was?”

 

The bartender, Garazi, had indeed tried to explain to them where the metro was. Unfortunately, drunk Yuuri had pulled drunk Viktor into his lap at that point, a soccer match was on, and no one had been paying much attention.

 

“Yeah,” Viktor said, which turned out to mean “I have absolutely no idea and I’m going to walk off in a random direction.”

 

It was okay, though, because Viktor’s ears turned pink when he was drunk and it was adorable. Yuuri reached over and pinched one.

 

“Hmm,” Viktor said instead of any normal reaction to having his ear fondled, which was a definite sign he was inebriated.

 

Many blocks later, they were less drunk, but they had found a skating rink. It was marked PISTA DE GEL, and Viktor was just tipsy enough to elbow his way to the front of the line, Yuuri’s sweaty drunk hand is his.

 

“It’s a sign from God,” Viktor explained to the man who sold them their tickets. “We call everything on the ice love.”

 

The man did not care that they had skipped fifteen very upset people, and he didn’t not care about love on ice.

 

There was a second counter to rent skates from, and judging by the face Viktor made when the young woman working it passed him his skates, Viktor had not thought this through. They were… used. Scuffed. There wasn’t even a skate guard to match his eyes.

 

“This is terrifying,” Viktor said, eyeing the masses of people in the rink, his rented skates held away from him as if they smelled bad. (They did not. Yuuri was still tipsy enough to have sniffed his in public, just to check.) “Do you just… go in a circle?”

 

The vast majority of patrons were indeed going very slowly around in a circle.

 

Yuuri slipped their tickets to get their regular shoes back into his pocket and sat on a bench to put on his skates.

 

“Haven’t you ever been to a public rink?” Yuuri asked. Viktor gingerly sat down next to him, as if he didn’t quite trust the bench or his skates or himself.

 

“Why would I?” he asked. “There’s no room to do anything fun.”

 

It was true it was very crowded. There was space in the middle of the rink, though, and and as soon as they were on the ice, Yuuri grabbed Viktor’s hands and dragged him out there. A group of teenage boys were dominating the area by doing figure eights, which was adorable.

 

“Not today, teenagers,” Yuuri muttered as he pulled Viktor into their midst.

 

“Stop picking fights with random teenagers,” Viktor teased. “Yurio will get jealous.”

 

“Well, we’ll buy him a present to make up for it,” Yuuri said vaguely.

 

“What do kids like these days?” Viktor wondered. “Fidget spinners? Let’s get him a fidget spinner.”

 

“We can get ‘congratulations for the GPF’ printed on it–” Yuuri was cut off by one of the teenagers nearly bumping into him as he flew by.

 

“Come on,” Viktor said, looping his arm through Yuuri’s. “Let’s show them a _real_ trick.”

 

There was, of course, still not enough room to do a ‘real trick,’ and Yuuri was confident ‘real tricks’ were not allowed in most public rinks. But there was loud pop music playing, enough room to dance without hitting anyone, and enough spandex in the blend of Viktor’s slacks to let him pull some ridiculous moves.

 

Yuuri was never making fun of ice dancing again.

 

“You are very good!” one of the teenagers called to them in accented English.

 

“Merci!” Viktor called back, then turned to Yuuri and said, “Yes, we should definitely get Yurio a fidget spinner.”

 

\--

 

It was starting to get dark once they were outside again. The Christmas lights for the city were on; one building in the plaza had a wall of animated snowflakes. The line to ice skate was even longer than it had been when they’d gotten there.

 

“You have to admit that was fun,” Yuuri said, wandering over to a trashcan to throw out his rental skate ticket.

 

“I _guess_ ,” Viktor said. He was grinning and pink-eared from the cold. “What’s wrong?”

 

Yuuri was frowning in confusion at the trash can. “Um,” he said and gestured vaguely at it. “It’s filled with ice…?”

 

“What?” Viktor asked, approaching it was well.

 

The garbage bin was indeed filled with crushed ice. A six pack of beers was sitting on it.

 

“Huh,” Viktor said. “Well.”

 

He took the beer.

 

“Are you really sure–” Yuuri started.

 

“They’re all sealed,” Viktor said. “Perfectly good beer, even if this Cruzcampo stuff is garbage– well, I guess that’s why it was in the bin–”

 

Viktor was cut off by a man in the crowd of people in the plaza screaming “ _BASTA YA_.” The man, who was clearly yelling at Viktor, pointed furiously at the beer as he ducked between tourists to get to them. Viktor glanced at Yuuri, smiled, and then ran.

 

“VIKTOR!” Yuuri yelled and ran after him.

 

“CABRONES!” The man yelled and ran after both of them.

 

Viktor sprinted across the plaza, dodging tourists, crossed the street, and darted down one of the side streets. There was honking as the man followed them into the crosswalk, having just missed the walk signal.

 

“VIKTOR–” Yuuri tried yelling again, and Viktor tripped.

 

For a brief second, Yuuri thought he had caused his boyfriend to trip and felt incredibly bad. Then he saw what Viktor had tripped over and his heart was filled with joy.

 

“Ack,” Viktor said. He’d somehow kept the beer cradled to his chest during his fall, and so his left arm had taken most of the impact.

 

“Fat Dog!” Yuuri cried and lunged for the dog.

 

He missed and joined Viktor on the sidewalk. Fat Dog’s tail wagged frantically as it yipped at them.

 

“Os voy a denunciar–” the man was panting as he caught up. Fat Dog ran through his legs.

 

“No!” Yuuri and Viktor cried in unison. The man stared after the dog, a look of complete bewilderment on his face.

 

Before the man could figure out what happened and remember why he’d been chasing them, Yuuri grabbed the beer and yelled the first Spanish phrase that came to mind.

 

“HASTA LA VISTA!” he cried, then threw the six pack into the street.

 

“Ostias!” the man yelled. He yelled some more things, but Yuuri grabbed Viktor hand and ran off before they could find out what those things were.

 

Once they were far enough away that the throngs of tourists had disappeared and they could no longer hear the man yelling, they both slowed to a walk.

 

“I think he was selling them,” Viktor said. “The beer, I mean. We interrupted his business model.”

 

Yuuri did not quite have it in him to feel bad for the man. “We missed Fat Dog,” he whined instead.

 

“I know,” Viktor sighed. He pulled Yuuri into a hug and patted his back sympathetically. “There, there, sweet Yuuri.”

 

“...are you still drunk?” Yuuri asked, voice muffled by Viktor’s coat.

 

“No, just coping with tragedy.”

 

Yuuri giggled. Then he suggested they ask directions from the store on the corner, which had an advert in English in the window. English would be good.

 

Although, if worst came to worst, he was pretty sure that Spanish for _where is the beach_ was _dónde está la playa._ Like, about 95% sure. They’d probably get somewhere.

 

The store was a photography store, and the window display showed off all the things one could get their photos printed on. Yuuri eyed a heart shaped pillow with a couple’s faces on it. That was… too cute for him to think about. He instead turned to a blanket with a photo of a dog and a child on it. That one he could see in his future home.

 

His future home with _Viktor._ Was he even allowed to think about that? Oh no. _Oh no._

 

“What if we got his and his Makkachin mugs?” Viktor asked, pointing, and Yuuri’s heart nearly exploded.

 

“Ah,” was all he managed to say.

 

“Or,” Viktor continued, “what if we got whatever this is?”

 

It was a gameboard. The game was not one Yuuri recognized, but like many board games, it was divided into four quadrants for players to move their pieces around. On this customized board, the four quadrants were decorated with four photos of the same child.

 

“Parchís?” Yuuri asked, reading he sign.

 

“I think in English it’s called… Parcheesi?”

 

Yuuri blinked very slowly at Viktor. He still had no idea what that was.

 

“Ah,” Viktor said. “It’s for children anywa– _we should get it for Yurio_.”

 

Yuuri almost objected. He did not think Yurio would like this. But then he saw the mischievous glint in Viktor’s eye, imagined the look on Yurio’s face when he opened his ‘victory present,’ and said, “Yes. Definitely.”

 

Viktor was already through the door asking the store clerk about the game board before they both remembered why they’d even come to the store in the first place.

 

“You can email the photos from your mobiles to here,” the clerk said, tapping a print-out of the shop’s email address and phone number under the glass of the counter.

 

“That might be a bit of a problem,” Viktor said, leaning over the counter and turning his charm up all the way. “We’ve been out all day and our phones are dead.”

 

“Ah, you can charge!” the clerk said, ducking behind the counter and producing a handful of cords.

 

Viktor and Yuuri hooked both their phones up to charge and then turned to browse the otherwise empty store. The clerk went back to a movie she had been watching on her own phone.

 

“Here,” Yuuri said, picking up a French press with a picture of a smiling woman holding a cat. “We can get one of these with a picture of you looking disgusted at Dunkin coffee.”

 

“It’s just not that good,” Viktor said defensively, then pointed at a shirt whose front was entirely taken up by a photo of a dog. “I want one of these but of the face you make when you smell fried pork.”

 

“It’s just that good,” Yuuri replied, elbowing Viktor playfully.

 

The continued like that for a while before deeming their phones sufficiently charged. Viktor leaned on the counter as he scrolled through photos.

 

“What if we put this one on it?” he asked, holding up a photo of Yurio snarling at the camera. He had a travel pillow around his neck and was obviously on a bus. Yuuri could practically hear him demanding Viktor put the phone away right now.

 

“Umm,” the store clerk said, her polite smile fixed very carefully in place.

 

“Do you have one from the GPF?” Yuuri asked.

 

Viktor did have a nice one of Yuuri from his kiss and cry, and the store clerk seemed excited by the costume.

 

“A competition?” she asked. “Skating?”

 

“Mm-hm,” Viktor said. “Here’s Yuuri.”

 

Yuuri was making his dumb squinty face in his, probably trying to read his scoreboard without glasses.

 

The store clerk nearly screamed and clapped her hand over her mouth.

 

“Handsome, right?” Viktor agreed, very conspicuously adjusting his hand to show off his ring. Yuuri went red.

 

“You must put that one on too,” the clerk insisted.

 

“Are you really sure–” Yuuri started.

 

“Don’t worry,” the clerk assured him. “You look good.”

 

This, of course, ended with the clerk googling them on her computer and very excitedly downloading a professionally taken photo of Viktor at the previous Grand Prix Final. Yuuri did not think this was necessarily fair.

 

“And the fourth one?” The clerk asked, her eyes darting between them as if they might produce a fourth competitive skater.

 

Yuuri first suggested they pull a photo from Yurio’s instagram account, but Viktor immediately protested on the grounds of that not being personalized enough. The clerk nodded along earnestly with him, even though she had literally just pulled a photo of Viktor from someone’s blog.

 

Yuuri, recalling he had some really nice candid photos of Yuuri trying to coax a stray cat out of a bush in Hasetsu, pulled out his phone and opened his photo album. Viktor sucked his breath in in shock.

 

“Yuuri, is that–”

 

Yuuri’s most recent photo, against all odds, was of Fat Dog in the park.

 

“I didn’t realize I’d taken it,” Yuuri said, marvelling at the photo. Most of the scenery was blurred– he must have taken it when they’d first spotted Fat Dog– but the dog was perfectly in focus. Truly, Fat Dog was a magical creature.

 

The clerk seemed very confused about why they were suddenly so desperate to print a photo of the dog on their parchís board, but she admitted it was very cute. While the board printed, Viktor pulled up googlemaps and plotted them a course for the beach.

 

\--

 

They walked out of the print shop with their gift-wrapped parchís board and a box containing a shower curtain printed with a photo of Makkachin on the beach in Hasetsu. The beach there in Barcelona was still a long walk away, so they decided to get fast food for dinner along the way.

 

Being reasonable adults, they ordered ice cream first. Or at least they tried to.

 

“Dos coños de fresa, por favor,” Yuuri said politely. The woman behind the counter stared at him for several seconds before bursting into laughter. She laughed so hard, she ended up bent over her knees and whooping. Another worker appeared in a rush and had to serve them in her place.

 

As they were walking away, she said something to her coworker and he also succumbed to laughter.

 

“It couldn’t possibly have been that funny,” Yuuri, who had no idea that the difference between the words _cono_ and _coño_ was the same as the difference between _cone_ and _cunt_ , muttered between bites of his ice cream. He’d googled the word for _strawberry_ and everything.

 

“It’s okay,” Viktor said. “Your mom nearly peed herself laughing one time I offered to help with chores in Japanese.”

 

They ordered kabobs next, and when Viktor realized he couldn’t handle the spicy sauce, a bottle of milk from a corner store. His ears were pink again. Adorable.

 

They also grabbed a bottle of wine, because they were reasonable adults.

 

Being reasonable adults, it took them all the way to the beach to realize they had no way to open the wine.

 

“It’s okay,” Yuuri said, taking the bottle in his hands. “I have a college education.”

 

He slipped off his shoe, placed the base of the wine bottle in the mouth of his shoe, and gently but firmly beat it against the stone wall delineating the start of the sand. The cork gradually shook free of the bottle.

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more turned on,” Viktor said matter-of-factly, and Yuuri nearly dropped the wine.

 

They settled on the sand, drinking straight from the bottle. In the picture Phichit had sent, the Mediterranean was a brilliant shade of sapphire, but in the night, it was dark and huge and stretched on and on. Next to him, Viktor slumped down and let his cheek rest on Yuuri’s shoulder.

 

“I’ve always wanted to get married in Paris,” Viktor said conversationally. Yuuri nearly choked on the wine. “What about you?”

 

Yuuri fumbled with the bottle and said, “I always thought I’d just stay in Hasetsu… but my mom’s always wanted to go to Paris.”

 

Viktor laughed softly into his shoulder. “I’m happy to get married wherever Mama Katsuki wants to go.”

 

They sat in silence for a while, Yuuri’s heart beating a mile a minute. He got to get married to _Viktor Nikiforov._ That was just not something that happened to people.

 

“Hey,” Viktor said, easing the wine out of Yuuri’s hand and taking his own long sip. “Don’t be so nervous. I love you, after all.”

 

Yuuri wanted to say _I love you too._ What came out instead was some sort of inhuman squeak. Viktor seemed to understand anyway, because he leaned in and kissed him.

 

Making out on the beach did not stop ambulatory salesmen from trying to sell drinks and snacks to them, so they both ended up with mojitos and the world’s most disappointing coconut wedges.

 

“Phichit warned me,” Yuuri mourned, “and did I listen?”

 

“I’m not convinced there’s any alcohol in this mojito,” Viktor said. He took another long sip and then added thoughtfully, “It’s a shame about our couple name, though.”

 

“What do you mean?” Yuuri asked.

 

“Well,” Viktor continued, setting his now empty cup down carefully next to him in the sand. “It’s pretty bad, isn’t it? The internet is going to have a field day.”

 

Yuuri had no idea what he was talking about. “What do you mean it’s bad?”

 

“Yuuri and Viktor. _Yuktor._ It’s pretty unfortunate, Yuuri.”

 

Yuuri squinted at him incredulously. “Viktor,” he said very slowly, “you do realize our names together make _Vikturi,_ right?”

 

Viktor looked like he’d just had an epiphany. Then, he burst into laughter. “Ah, you’re right! This is why you’re the brains of this relationship.”

 

They were silent for a while after that, both basking in each other’s company. Yuuri chucked his disgusting coconut wedge as hard as he could into the sea and then flopped down on his back, stretching. He felt sleepy and content. A minute later, Viktor settled down with his head on Yuuri’s stomach.

 

“That’s going to get softer during the off-season,” Yuuri warned.

 

“Mm,” Viktor replied. “I’m counting on it. I can’t wait until we’re old and you’re fat and I’m bald and we can sit around drinking wine and complaining about bad coffee together.”

 

“The complaining will all be you,” Yuuri said, letting his eyes close. “You’re going to make a great old bald man.”

 

“I’ll complain about coffee,” Viktor agreed, “you’ll complain about my snobbery, and we’ll both adopt seven dogs.”

 

Yuuri laughed. Viktor rotated and twisted his arm around Yuuri’s waist in an awkward half-hug. Somehow, they fell asleep like that.

 

\--

 

Yuuri was woken by movement form Viktor. Viktor was woken by movement from a stranger pulling his shoes off his feet.

 

Viktor managed to splutter out several sleepy sounding words in Russian before he got to, “No, stop,” which prompted Yuuri to open his eyes.

 

A man pried off Viktor’s second shoe. Viktor kicked his leg, which made the man stumble as he turned to run.

 

Both Viktor and Yuuri made to stand, crashed into each other, and then toppled over in the sand. Their second attempt was more successful, and Viktor shot off after the man, screaming insults in several languages.

 

Then, a whirlwind of brown fur crashed into the man.

 

Fat Dog tackled the shoe thief. The thief, completely off guard, fell into the sand and did a dramatic roll. By the time he was back on his feet, he’d dropped the shoes and both Viktor and Yuuri had caught up to him.

 

The thief looked back and forth between them, then down at the dog, and fled.

 

“You saved him!” Yuuri cried, sweeping up the little dog in his arms. Viktor picked up his shoes and then nearly tripped over himself to pet the perfect little dog in Yuuri’s arms.

 

They had to go back down on the beach for their goods from the photography shop.

 

“Thank god they didn’t steal our parchís board,” Viktor said as he slipped his shoes back on. “Yurio would be so sad without it.”

 

“Yes,” Yuuri agreed. “Thank god that guy recognized you spent way to much on your shoes.”

 

“Hush, you,” Viktor said, leaning over to pet Fat Dog some more. Yuuri felt vaguely like the Madonna with child, holding this miracle creature.

 

Eventually Viktor thought to check his watch and realized it was 1) four o’clock in the morning and 2) six hours form their flight back to Japan.

 

“Just enough time to play a game of Parchís with Yurio,” Yuuri said.

 

He’d meant it as a joke, but unfortunately for Yurio, Viktor’s face lit up at the thought.

 

“We only have three players for a four person game, though,” Viktor said as they started the walk back to their hotel.

 

“Fat Dog can play,” Yuuri said immediately. The dog was still snuggled calmly in his arms. He was literally never letting it go, just like he was metaphorically never letting Viktor go.

 

“Yes, of course,” Viktor said. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

 

The streets were almost completely empty as they walked, but not nearly as empty as Yuuri might have predicted. Spaniards partied late, and they passed several groups of people ranging from “looking fresh and ready to go” to “sitting on the sidewalk crying next to a puddle of vomit.”

 

As if summoned by the divinity of Fat Dog, Otabek wandered out of a club.

 

“Hey, Otabek!” Viktor called. “What’s up?”

 

Otabek, who’d hunched over in a clear “strangers do not interact” posture, paused and glanced over at them. His eyes lingered on Viktor, whose clothes were rumpled and covered in sand, before moving on to stare outright at the fact that Yuuri was clutching a very fat, very perfect dog to his chest.

 

“I had a gig,” Otabek said eventually.

 

“That’s great,” Viktor said, very friendly. “Do you want to come play a game with us?”

 

He clamped a hand down on Otabek’s shoulder, very friendly.

 

“It’s for Yuri Plisetsky,” Yuuri continued, also very friendly. He moved to Otabek’s other side so they both flanked him.

 

Otabek stared down at Viktor’s hand on his person, then looked back to Fat Dog.

 

“...why do you have a dog?” he asked.

 

“Because the dog has us,” Yuuri said mysteriously.

 

It was a completely stupid, nonsensical thing to say. Viktor looked at him as if he were a genius.

 

Instead of going along with their brilliant plan, Otabek slowly reached out, not to pet Fat Dog like a normal person, but to check the tag on its collar.

 

“It’s got an address,” Otabek said. “You should take it back. You can’t just steal someone’s dog.”

 

“The _dog_ stole _us_ ,” Yuuri insisted.

 

Otabek was, unfortunately, correct. There wasn’t enough time to get all the documentation together to bring Fat Dog back to Japan with them. The dog’s home was vaguely on their way back to the hotel, and Viktor made Otabek promise he’d play parchís with them if they returned Fat Dog.

 

“This is for Yuri?” Otabek asked, sounding very confused as they walked to Fat Dog’s home. “As a victory gift?”

 

“Yes,” Viktor confirmed. “Yuri loves Parcheesi.”

 

Yuuri stopped in front of the building containing Fat Dog’s apartment. Otabek muttered, “That doesn’t seem right…”

 

With tears in his eyes, Yuuri rang the buzzer for Fat Dog’s apartment. Then he rang it twice more because there was no answer.

 

“Qui és?” a very grumpy old man voice answered.

 

Yuuri blinked at the buzzer. That wasn’t even Spanish. “Perro,” he tried. “Tenemos tu perro.”

 

There was some grumbling that Yuuri did not understand at all, then the line went quiet.

 

“Um,” Yuuri said.

 

They stood there awkwardly for some time, and just when Yuuri was about to try ringing again, the same old man they saw with Fat Dog that morning appeared at the building’s door.

 

The old man grunted something in Catalan, took the dog form Yuuri’s arms, and then went back inside. It was very anticlimactic.

 

“We didn’t even get to say good-bye,” Yuuri said sadly.

 

“Can we go now?” Otabek asked.

 

\--

 

Yurio did not appreciate being woken up at 5:30 in the morning.

 

“What the hell do you want?” he snapped at them from his hotel room door.

 

“Language,” Viktor said with an easy smile. Yuuri could practically see Yurio’s blood pressure rise.

 

“They got you a present,” Otabek said. “For winning, I think.”

 

Yurio’s intense glare softened slightly as he peered down at the plastic bag in Viktor’s hand.

 

“What sort of present?” he asked with suspicion.

 

“Oh, you’ll love it,” Viktor said, and easily breezed by Yurio into his room. Otabek and Yuuri followed. “It’s even cooler than a fidget spinner.”

 

Yurio looked conflicted between kicking them out and pouncing on his gift. He ended up taking the box very slowly from Viktor and then ripping the wrapping off like a small, wild child.

 

“What is this?” he hissed. He turned it over twice, glowering at the photos. “Why isn’t Otabek’s face on it too?”

 

“It’s not from me,” Otabek said, as if that explained why there was a strange dog on it.

 

“You’re a moron,” Yurio said to Viktor’s face. “A complete idiot. Both of you.”

 

“We have enough time for a game–” Viktor started, obviously barely holding back laughter.

 

“Get! Out!” Yurio demanded, stomping his foot like an enraged princess in a fairytale. Then he turned to Otabek and in a much quieter voice said, “Get some sleep.”

 

Otabek grunted good night to them as Yurio flailed his arms to get them to leave. As the door swung shut, Yuuri caught sight of Yurio, turned to stand very carefully over his suitcase with the game board.

 

Yuuri and Viktor returned to their own room only to discover they had left their things strewn all over the room.

 

“And here I thought we’d get to enjoy bed one last time,” Viktor sighed.

 

“My bed is Hasetsu is pretty good,” Yuuri ventured.

 

“That’s true,” Viktor agreed. “I’ll take the bathroom and you pack the clothes?”

 

As with most things, it took them longer than anticipated to finish packing their bags. They passed out leaning on top of each other in the back of the cab to the airport.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to explain most things in-text, but if anything confused you, [I typed up a cultural guide on my tumblr.](https://misfitmccoward.tumblr.com/post/179470641887/cultural-notestranslations-to-accompany)
> 
> Questions, comments, concerns? Please leave a comment. :)


End file.
